Thursday, April 26, 2018

What does it mean to be wild? What does it mean to be free...
yet...
one can see there is something...some warm light, some comfort over there?
Let me tell you the story of Stumpy GoldenEyes,

who fathered most of the kittens in a mile or two or three (or seven?) radius of a little hamlet in the Flint Hills of Kansas....

The Land of Stumpy Golden Eyes

There was a cat,
fluffy and wearing a black and white tuxedo. He was here before me, in the grasslands and prairie and hills and farmland. He ranged the miles around my little farmhouse, going here and there as he pleased. My guess is he sired many many of the ferals and not-feral cats in the area. I think I own one of his kits.
He did not come close enough for me to get a real good look at him. But I would see him pass by
and he would see me see him.

As the years passed
he might have tangled with my big marmalade boy. He might have flirted with my Konza Prairie Dog. You never know what goes on behind the cloak of night. (Except that in Catland, some things do go on….)

Then something happened, which changed me and elevated my spirit through pain.
Stumpy, who had naught but a 2 inch stump of a tail, (the rest of which was most probably lost in a farming accident or wildlife encounter) began to come close to the house and sit. I got out my zoom camera and discovered the magnificent Golden Eyes which were deep as the river and bright as the prairie.

Stumpy Golden Eyes! I love you! Come let me meet you!

As he came closer each day that week, I got a better picture.

My heart sank.
He was covered in big fatted ticks.
His black and white long hair was missing in patches. Oh StumpyGoldenEyes I want to comfort you.
I asked the old farmer across the way,
who said Stumpy had always seemed to have been around. He didn't know how old he was, but certainly more than 10 or 15 years. All the kittens in the area were black and white. He was only seen from a distance. He did not linger but was like a shadow.

No one had ever touched Stumpy. He did not come to eat or drink or sleep on the big hay bales.

He walked alone.

I put out premium nourishment for this elder feline of the flint hills.
I went and sat a respectful distance away; he came! He ate! He drank! And he came every day. By the end of the week he allowed me to sit within feet. I put out my concealed cat carrier near the food.
I touched him; his scabied, parasite-attacked body shivered and shrank.
The next day he allowed me to lift him, ease him into the carrier.

I took him to our shelter, a warm country place with a huge grassy yard surrounded by tall trees. I told them the story. They saw his pain and dis-ease. They said, he could never be adopted. He is old and worn out. He is wild and fierce.

I asked them to clean him, to make him feel good, and they did. They took all the critters off of his noble body and made his skin and fur soft and supple. They fed him good things and he was at ease—for four days. I went each day and was able to pet him and give him company. And then his good humor wore off.

“Where are my flint hills? Where is the sky? I am Wild Cat!”

They told me, he should be put down now. He has few teeth, and is unable to eat well, especially in the wild.
He had been starving.
...He came to you because he needed help to go, they said.
He had come to me to help him cross the Rainbow Bridge.

He had come to find the warmth, to help him ease out of this tight broken shell into his new life!
I wept at the honor.
The shelter woman and I wept. We were not in a hurry and we held each other for a moment.
I asked her for a favor.
I told her
Stumpy had never been inside anything but a barn. Could he please go outside?
Could he have his morphine outside, under his Blue Konza Prairie Skies?

The Wise Wonderful Woman of the shelter stood quietly and her heart and brain battled the Way Things Always Are. She wrestled The Way Things Are Done.
Then she said Yes.
My heart broke with gratitude. I still have a scar.

Stumpy GoldenEyes crossed the Rainbow Bridge out in the breezes of the Flint Hills. Perhaps he saw a mouse in the grass as he passed, or heard a birdsong.

They told me upon post- examination of his gums that he was at least 20 years old, but probably older.
When my number comes in, I am donating to the shelter an outdoor Passage Portal, a bridge and little cottage for those animals who loved or lived in the wild.
And a lifetime supply of Kleenex and chocolate for the shelter women.

Stumpy Golden Eyes of the Thunderpaws Tribe

can you see me?

...

addendum... all the cats of mine (such as , HERE, and here, here, here, and HERE are rescues from our shelter.)

who came to check out the apple, peach, and apricot trees in early spring and wandered peacefully around the yard for 15 minutes,
to
Woodchucks, one of whom
came in late winter and is now a family of four who love cold carrots and my mustard greens-- eating apples(HERE), and
playing on the woodpile HERE

Last night i killed a big brown recluse spider in the bathroom. I didn't want to, but my fear still exists. Perfect love which drives out fear is an ongoing endeavor.

Last night, up late reading the political blogs, i squeaked as a mouse scampered in from the kitchen--it screeched in its tracks as it saw me sitting up in bed--and made a sharp right turn into a pile of sheets. Later in the deep dark of early morning, my Konza Prairie Dog sounded like she was in playheaven, pouncing and murmering with glee as she moved the mouse along in its journey through The Cycle.

Death. It is not the death that hurts, but the moments of violence, confusion, pain and fear that preceed.

Earlier in the day

a hawk had descended in hungry fury on the woodpile, resulting in a scattering of birds but perhaps one less squirrel...

There are cycles in everything.

A woodpecker and a sparrow were pecking and arguing over a seedcake yesterday morning. Back and forth they picked and pecked and peeped-- all while NOT eating. Suddenly, a hummingbird came close and just hovered around both of them. This is three feet from the front porch. Usually the hummers stay 15-25 feet out, near the nectar feeders and the flowers.

The hummingbird came within 3-4 inches of each bird, just humming with interest, for about 20 seconds.

Monday, April 23, 2018

It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them, and every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are. - Anonymous

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Koko was sad when told that Robin Williams, an acquaintance of hers, had died....What? was TOLD? Yes, Koko knows sign language. (video below)...
Apparently, Koko had become despondent over the death of a life-long friend. Robin Williams managed to make her laugh for the first time in 6 months.

When i was young,
i learned about Koko. It was a fabulous thing. (Thank you, wise teachers...)
This Gorilla painted pictures of things she liked!
This is a picture of a dog who ran and played with her:

She picked out out prospective mating partners from videos, like a dating site...
She ran and played with kittens and dogs, forming interspecies relationships -- other than her relationships with us humans.
Her own pet kitten --tailless--
she named All Ball.

!!

Here she is playing with her own little kitten pet.
Warning--
there is deep emotional moment here.

Animals such as elephants, horses, all the higher mammals--, who have memories, emotions, families---
that we can treat them so despicably is beyond bearing at times. That we treat even the lower animals poorly reflects on us as well. We all walk about manifesting ourselves. ( The one minute at the end of The Urban Gorilla above--especially in light of the first minute--shows very clearly that the human being, capable of the highest good, is also capable of the most deplorable evil. )

However, to treat such tender and loving animals as, say, elephants, who exhibit deep family ties, who mourn their dead, who are traumatized by loss-- as if we are monsters, and they are nothing--or really, as if they are our hated enemies!
--surely will be one of our greatest shames we will bear before God the Creator Almighty, when all things are bathed in Light.

We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form. ~William Ralph Inge, Outspoken Essays, 1922

Mahatma Gandhi: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated"

From beasts we scorn as soulless, In forest, field and den, The cry goes up to witness The soullessness of men. ~M. Frida Hartley

Need a Laugh?

an interesting place

Beauty Horse

Oh Well

I Love You Snorkel Cat

Sweetest Vultures

Migrating Geese Are Here

The Flint Hills of Kansa

Feast of the Immaculate Conception

Mystical Things

Aung San Suu Kyi Released

Nonviolence

艾未未 Love the Future 爱未来

The Whole World is Watching

The Spirit In Which It Is Given

Well, there is a lot of pain and sorrow, sacrifice, rage and insanity, anxiety and confusion. And that is just the first 5 minutes.Please accept these stories and posts in the spirit in which they are given- to edify, to lift, to lighten, to validate, to weep.Because also: love and sacrifice, wisdom and justice, clarity and gifts. Sometimes it takes more than 5 minutes.Today I added K's story to this blog. She was a little 18 year old when she was deceived into a night of betrayal and crime; trafficked; bought and sold. it is profoundly disturbing that her betrayer was another woman, a wolf in sheep's clothing. hang in there, everybody. Everything is OK in the end. If it isn't ok, it's not the end.